


Intent

by oh_johnny



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5543282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_johnny/pseuds/oh_johnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul still has John's old guitar. </p><p>Inspired by the song 'A Lonely September' by The Plain White T's. It just kind of screams j/p to me. </p><p>The link goes to the lyrics of the song: </p><p>http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/plainwhitets/alonelyseptember.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intent

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of an old fic, originally posted in my lj journal.

He sits in the half-light of dawn cradling the old guitar. Nobody knows he has it, not even Yoko who thinks she has all of John's guitars catalogued. All except this one, that is. He's kept it for over forty years now and never shown it to a soul. He'd even kept Linda away from this part of his life. It was too precious, too private, too, finally, heartbreaking to let anyone else in. 

It was his proof, on the nights that he needed it, that he had been loved. 

The two of them on his bed, John playing it for him, playing _In My Life_. Embarrassed by the sentiment of it all, but wanting Paul to hear it before anyone else, wanting him to _know_. Words neither of them were able to say except in song. And then he'd left the guitar behind and, somehow, had always forgotten to collect it. 

He smiled at the memory. His bed was awfully cold these days, awfully lonely, but it hadn't always been that way. Those first few years together he was sure they'd set some kind of record for hours spent entwined. He snorted at that thought - entwined was such a delicate way to phrase it. The truth was that they'd been rock hard most of the time they were together and every chance they had to get naked and sweaty and _inside_ each other had been taken. And taken hard. 

They'd never intended it to be that way. Neither one had any idea that they'd ever even be interested in blokes, both spending as much time as they could to get the birds in their lives on their backs. It was Jurgen who had started it, really. It had amused him, their northern homophobia, so completely out of place on the Rieperbahn. And so he'd got them resoundingly drunk one night and dared all of them to kiss a man. On the lips, though he hadn't insisted on tongue. 

Pete had walked out at the suggestion, a stammering, blushing, still virgin George following not long after. Stuart had laughed and kissed Jurgen himself, which left John and Paul. There was a fair amount of blushing and bumped noses and some negotiating around John's glasses but eventually they managed a kiss. When Paul pulled back he saw John licking his lips thoughtfully, and knew he was doing the same - the taste was unfamiliar, yet not overly so: beer and tobacco and sausage and onions and...something else. Something...John, he supposed. Odd. But definitely not unpleasant. 

It was three days later that John had cornered him in the storage room at the club, had, without so much as a by your leave, taken another kiss. He hadn't touched Paul in any other way, leaving it for Paul to stop this if he wanted to. But he hadn't. And soon there were hands and tongues and quiet moans.

And they just kept doing it. 

For years. 

It had never been what you would call smooth sailing. John was impatient, mercurial, given to fits of depression. Paul knew that he was hard to deal with too. A perfectionist, always pushing at people to get them to do what he wanted. They'd had more than one knock down drag out fight between them, each swearing that this was going to be the end.

But it never was. Well, until it really was. 

And that was the part that always got to Paul. The way that John had just...negated what they'd had. Sure, making sarcastic comments about him was the way John always operated when he was angry, but the comments he'd made about Paul, to George, to Ringo, to the damn international press, went beyond that. For a while there, a long, long while, Paul wondered if he'd dreamed it all. Maybe it had never happened. Maybe it had all just been one long acid trip. Maybe...maybe he'd just been fooling himself.

But there was always that guitar to pull him back from the edge. 

A kiss. A harmless little drunken kiss. They had never intended it to be anything more, had never wanted to fall in love. 

People talk about fate, about the day they met, about these two lives colliding and making something spectacular. He knows, as he falls asleep cradling this guitar, that it's more true than anyone will ever know. 

And whatever shit goes down in his life he knows this to be true: John Lennon had loved him. Yeah yeah yeah.


End file.
